The Rebels' Tale
by Anbessette
Summary: The story of two lives that Gilead changed forever. Original characters. Rated for language.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Republic of Gilead belongs to Margaret Atwood. The sentence describing their rise to power is a paraphrased quote from the book. Rachel, Jake and their personal story are my own.

A/N: This is (obviously) set in America. I'm Australian, so I apologise for any details I got wrong. Feel free to point them out.

Rachel came to me before it happened. Before Gilead was anything more than a political party, or an obscure biblical reference for those – like her – who actually recognised the name. She could see what was coming and, rather more impressively, she was one of the few who didn't write it off as the paranoid after taste of the terror threat that was gripping the nation in a stranglehold.

"An eighth of my class lost their places this week," she informed me as we lay around in my living room, watching cartoons.

That got my attention. Rachel was a second year medical student, studying at the most prestigious university in the state. It wasn't exactly unheard of for classmates of hers to buckle under the load. An eighth of the class in a single week, though . . . "What the hell happened there? A mass outbreak of schizophrenia?"

She frowned at me. "You shouldn't joke about that. It's not funny. And, no. What happened is we got a new professor."

"He must be a monster."

"He's a Gileadan."

We'd talked about them a fair bit since they appeared on the horizon a couple of years ago, more so as they started to gain power. Hadn't argued, surprisingly. A platform taken almost word for word from the Bible was always going to piss me off, but I'd expected Rachel to be a fan. When I pressed her for reasons, she said that their interpretation of the scriptures left a lot to be desired, they relied too heavily on the Old Testament and they were going to give people like her a reputation she didn't want. But I think the main reason, at least then, was the first one she gave me. Something about that group gave her the creeps.

"He says that those people flunked out – 'didn't make the cut' is what he actually said – but I know that's not true. He threw them out because they were women, or gay, or another religion. Muslims, Hindus, that sort of thing."

"Bet you were happy about that part." That came out automatically. I teased her about her religion all the time, telling her it was good practice in turning the other cheek.

She sat bolt upright. "No. You know I'm not like that, Jake! I don't hate them. I think they're wrong about God, but they think the same about me. That's what faith is. If you believe in one religion you can't believe in the others, there just isn't room. Kamal is my friend."

"Easy, Rach. Of course I know that. I was kidding."

"I wish you wouldn't," she muttered. "It hurts. Hearing you say stuff like that about me . . ."

I could only stare at her for a long time. "I'm sorry," I said finally. "You should know better than to take me seriously. I don't mean any of it."

She smiled. "Believe me, I'd have been out of your life years ago if I thought you meant half of what you say. It's OK. That's just who you are. I'm still reeling from this week, that's all."

We sat in silence for a few moments.

"How come you haven't lost your place? You said he was getting rid of women."

"Yeah, but he's pretending it's all about grades. He can't touch me."A smirk, from both of us. Rachel was damn proud of her brains, and so was I. I liked to look at this future doctor and know she couldn't have passed high school math without me. Serious again, she continued "But it's only a matter of time."

"No. It's just one crazy professor. You should complain to the university about him."

"I'm going to. We're getting up a petition. But it's not just one guy. There's a whole party of them, and they're getting more powerful every day. Soon, they'll be the ones making all the decisions."

"Never going to happen. We're not going to wind up with a Gileadan president. America has a lot of problems, but we're smarter than that."

She just sighed. I could tell she didn't believe me. But now, the whole world knows she was right.

*****

When they (Islamic fanatics, we were told at the time) shot the president and machine-gunned the Congress, the world seemed to stop. Change. Remade forever. The army declared a state of emergency and suspended the Constitution. Temporarily, of course. No-one seemed to care. There were no riots in the streets. If there were any protests, they didn't make the news.

Rachel came over two days after that catastrophe, utterly freaked. She paced up and down in front of me, ranting. "You watch," she said. "There's a storm coming. It's gonna be worse than anything we can imagine."

I almost laughed. "Worse than _this_?"

She nodded. "This is only the beginning,Jake. Everything's changing. This time next year we'll be on the map as the Republic of Gilead."

"Again with Gilead! You're obsessed. This is bigger than a bunch of right-wing nutjobs."

"No! This is all down to them – even if they didn't actually orchestrate the whole thing, they're sure going to milk it for all it's worth. They're so much bigger than any of us gave them credit for." I must have looked sceptical, because she glared viciously. "I don't believe this. _You_, the guy who knows all about politics, the guy who wanted to be a fucking politician – you need _me_ to point out that the only government representatives left alive are Gileadans!"

I stared. "No, you're -" But I was frantically running through names and histories in my head, and she was right. You could count on the fingers of one hand the politicians who'd escaped the massacre, and they all belonged to Gilead, or had strong sympathies in that direction. "Holy crap."

"Indeed." She opened her handbag, and dumped a pile of pamphlets on the table. "I've been rounding up all the old Gileadan literature I can find, from before they toned it down and started getting popular, and it is some scary shit. Read it. Then watch. We're about to see a lot of this put into practice."

*****

Is it any surprise that Rachel was right about that too? It happened subtly, but it definitely happened. Newspaper and television censorship. Pornomarts and Feels-on-Wheels vans disappeared – not that I minded about that personally, but it's the principle of the thing. Mandated Identipasses. The day we heard about that, Rachel arrived on my doorstep at midnight, despite the fact that she lived on the other side of the city. She wasn't angry, or yelling, as she had been so often for the past few weeks. But I'd never seen her look so scared in my life.

I led my silent, eerily calm faced friend into the lounge, then went to get us some beers. Rach rarely drank, but I could tell she needed it at that moment. When I handed her a can, she swallowed most of it in one gulp. And, naturally, began coughing and spluttering like a drowning cat.

After I'd finished patting her on the back, she looked up at me through streaming eyes and gasped the first words she'd said since she arrived. "Marry me, Jake."

"_What_?" I gently pulled the can out of her hand. "You've had half a beer. You can't be drunk already."

"I'm not drunk. I've been thinking about it for weeks now. The world is changing. It's dangerous, especially not for people like you. Marry me. Let me protect you."

"Protect – What do you mean, people like me?"

"Atheists. And cripples. But mainly the first one. They're not going to turn on the disabled for a while yet. It's still so un-PC."

I could only shake my head at her.

"Trust me, will you? I've done a lot of research into this. They want to turn the whole country into a cult. But they _like_ Christians. They like marriage too – they're into the whole 'man and wife united as one' idea. If we were married, my reputation could cover you too."

"Rachel," I said quietly, but firmly. "I've been reading a lot of the pamphlets you gave me. And it seems to me that Gileadans are the ultimate anti-feminists. This world is going to be a thousand times safer for men than for women. So if you're scared, I get it. Just don't try to pretend this is you being altruistic instead of desperate."

I saw a flash of murder in her eyes. "Have you been absorbing any of those leaflets? Or are you just so used to tuning out anything religious you can't let it matter even now? They. Are. A. Nation. Wide. Cult. Yeah, this is going to suck for women. We're going to lose almost all the rights we've been fighting for since the 50s. But in a little while the world is only going to be safe for healthy, stably married Christians! And there's nothing anyone can do about the first, but I can help you with the other two. Let me. Please."

I wheeled over to the other side of the room. I needed to think, and I couldn't do that with her face in front of me. Rachel didn't follow me, but I could feel her anxious gaze boring into the back of my head.

"I see what you're saying about the religion," I said finally. "They are pretty obsessed. It might be smart to be seen as a Christian. I can start going to church, get my Compunumber on the records at some religious stores. That settle your mind? Or does it offend you?"

She came over and knelt in front of me, putting her hands on my knees. "What they're doing in His name offends me. You don't. The Bible always says God is a refuge and shield for the oppressed. But, the thing is, it won't work. Because being seen as a Christian really is the smart thing to do now. They know that. They'll be suspicious of any sudden converts. Me, I check out. I've put Uniting Church on every health form that's ever asked, and there are dozens of witnesses to say I've been going to church more or less every week for my entire life. I even got a certificate when I was christened, and another one when I was baptised four years ago. Jake, we can do this. It'll work. I can't promise forever, but we'll be safe for a while longer."

She looked up at me, eyes shining with earnestness and hope, and I don't know if it makes me an utter arsehole or not, but all I could feel was pissed off. This was so _Rachel_. Trying to turn life into a movie, smugly boasting about her faith, picturing herself as a knight in shining armour swooping in to save her poor crippled friend. It seemed to me right then that this was what she'd always wanted – a chance to be a saint and a romantic heroine all rolled into one.

"Fine, granted, but there's one thing you haven't considered. Why you? It's not like you're the only Christian girl around. There must be others with even better records than yours. If I need a wife so badly, why should I choose you?"

She pulled away from me. "Because," she said. "Because – I know I'm not the only one, or even the only one you know, though I bet I'm the only one you've actually had a conversation with in years – but the others don't realise that the country is going insane. None of them have asked you to marry them, and they wouldn't believe you if you explained why you wantedto. Some of them are probably Gilead supporters." She got to her feet. Then, suddenly, she slapped me across the face so hard I saw stars. "And none of them love you!" she screamed before turning and running out of the room.

*****

I found her out on the back porch, curled into a ball against the railings, sobbing into her hands. I hadn't seen Rachel cry since her grandmother's funeral. There were some comforting words I should probably have said. All I could get out was "You said – Rach, do you love me?"

She looked up. Even though I could see the tears still falling slowly down her cheeks, she sounded almost normal as she said "Not like that. I think. I mean, I was crazy about you back in high school, and it doesn't feel like that any more. But you've been my best friend since we were fourteen. You're the guy I bitch about study to and call in the middle of the night when I have to and trust more than anyone. I love you. And I don't know whether it's romantically or platonically or fraternally or what, but I do know I love you, so maybe it doesn't even matter what way. I'm so scared, and I don't want to lose you to these Gileadan bastards and – and –"

She stopped talking then, and stared at the floor. The words _I was crazy about you in high school_ were playing in my head over and over again. She hadn't even said it like a confession, just like a fact, taken for granted. God, I must have been blind. I looked down at her, and it felt like I was seeing her familiar face for the first time. The face of the girl who'd spent her entire prom with me, a guy who couldn't even dance, and never stopped smiling. Who I'd snuck out and shared stolen alcohol with, though not cigarettes – _I'm not interested in lung cancer, Jake_. _Thanks anyway_. She was the only girl who'd ever said she loved me. And . . . the only girl I'd ever loved. Because of course I fucking loved her. She was my best friend, my sparring partner, my sister and occasional late night fantasy. If I wanted her to, she could be my fiancée. Maybe I wasn't in love with her. Then again, maybe I was, maybe I'd just needed something like this to catalyst us into the relationship we should have been in all along. Or maybe Rach was right, and none of that mattered. The world was falling to pieces around us, but she was one piece of it I might be able to hold on to. I felt myself starting to smile. If God existed, and if He'd come to me and told me I could choose one familiar thing to have with me in Gilead, I'd have asked for Rachel.

My hands were shaking a bit as I undid the seatbelt that held me into my chair. Slowly, trying not to think of what an idiot I'd look if I got this wrong, I slid out of it, off the footrest and finally onto the floor. I clutched at the railings and used them to drag myself to a kneeling position. I planted one foot on the floor and pushed up. There. I was in position, now I had to do this fast before my leg gave out. I probably looked ridiculous. "Rachel Walsh," I said, and she opened her eyes. Her jaw dropped. "Will you marry me?"

Remembering the beer can at my side, I pulled off the ring top and held it out. She gave a hiccuping laugh. "Oh. Crap. This won't fit -"

"Yes it will," she interrupted, and held out her left hand, pinky extended. "I - I will too."

I pushed the aluminium circle over the tip of her finger, and as soon as it was on she threw her arms around me, sending us crashing to the floor. We didn't try to get up. That was how my room-mate found us when he came home from work – clinging together and crying like two terrified kids.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and/or favourited. Sorry the update took so long, and I hope Rachel isn't too much of a Mary-Sue in this chapter.

I was never the kind of girl who dreams about her fairytale wedding. So when Jake agreed to marry me, my first instinct was to make it happen as soon as possible. We organised a marriage license the very next day, and made it official just two days after that. A very simple procedure, with no-one there except us, the judge and our witnesses. It's probably a little sad that it still managed to be the most romantic day of my life.

We met in front of the courthouse at noon. I'd spent the morning in a confused whirl, trying to decide just how casual I wanted to play this. We both knew that this was a marriage of convenience. But – Jake had gone down on one knee, hadn't he? Maybe it would be OK to use a few other traditions. If I even wanted to. I ended up wearing my oldest blue jeans and my frilliest white blouse, borrowing a belt from my neighbour ("No reason, it just matches my outfit") and nipping into the store as I headed off to buy a small pair of earrings. I figured that I could deny it all if Jake noticed anything.

There was no need to worry about it, though. When I got there, he sheepishly offered me a small bouquet of flowers. I melted a little, even though I knew they'd only cost him about ten bucks. It broke the tension, for some reason. We talked about the book he was reading until it was time to go in.

For what was arguably the most important event of my life so far, it was over awfully quickly.

We walked out of the courthouse in semi-awkward silence. Then Jake pulled out a party popper and squirted us with streamers. I burst out laughing, and he did too, and all of a sudden I was _happy._ The nation was going to hell in a handbasket, the President was dead, the army roamed the streets, but I'd just married the greatest guy I'd ever met. For the moment, at least, life was good.

I pulled out a camera. "Wedding photos!" I caught a man's arm as he headed towards the door. "Excuse me, sir, could you take our picture?"

I crouched down beside Jake, he slung an arm over my shoulder, and as we both beamed at the camera a slightly crazy thought slipped into my mind.

No. I couldn't. He wasn't my boyfriend.

He was my husband.

I'd been thinking about this since I was old enough to think about it. Didn't I owe it to my former self to give it a shot?

Just before the flash went off, I swooped in and kissed him.

"Tradition," I explained afterwards. Rather weakly, if I say so myself.

He smiled. "Mom would have killed me if I didn't get that photo for her."

That was the next issue we faced - telling our parents.

I think mine considered it a sort of belated teenage rebellion. They were shocked, but in the end they gave their blessing. Dad even shook Jake's hand in a bemused sort of way.

Telling Jake's mom was another story. She shrieked. She hugged me. She actually _cried_. She said that I was perfect for him and that she'd always known this was going to happen. When she gave me her mother's wedding ring it was all I could do not to start crying myself.

I told myself that I wasn't a con-woman. That I was doing this for . . . well, maybe not for the _right_ reasons, but for good reasons. That I genuinely cared about her son, and it was only in the last century or so that people had started to believe that being passionately in love with your spouse was a requirement for marriage. That I wasn't selfishly keeping Jake from finding a girl who'd deserve that kind of gift from his family.

It didn't work.

We'd decided almost right away that we'd have to move in together. No-one would believe this was a real marriage if I lived on campus and my husband lived in an apartment twenty minute's drive away. In a fantastic stroke of luck, Jake's roommate chose that week to decide he was moving back home. His parents thought the city was a target for terrorists and wanted him to live somewhere safer. He didn't want to make things any harder than they had to be for them at a time like this. So I took his room, and there was no need for an awkward conversation about sleeping arrangements.

It took us a little while to adjust, but before long I was wondering how things could have ever been different. It seemed only natural to walk down the hall whenever I wanted to see Jake instead of picking up the phone. He was a good cook, and I killed spiders. Despite all the crap going on out in the world, for a few weeks we had domestic bliss.

*****

The day that all professional women were marched out of the workplace at gunpoint wasn't unexpected for me. I'd known it was coming for a while. It was still a horrible shock. I had to sit there, hiding behind the computer, as I watched half the lab technicians hustled away from their stations. Through the window, I could see a parade of librarians, teachers, and even waitresses and gardeners heading for the gates.

I hung around for a few hours after that, visiting my favourite haunts, saying goodbye. I knew, somehow, that this was the last time I'd get to come here like this. Any female students who turned up tomorrow would be politely (or not so politely) sent home. If women aren't allowed to work, they obviously won't be allowed to educate themselves. My last stop was the library. The librarians were gone, so I slipped some books into my bag. I wanted so badly to take some of the best pieces of feminist literature – I didn't want to think about what the Gileadans would do to them. But I restrained myself to practical things. Texts for some of the courses I'd never get to take. A guide to herbal medicine (because nobody was going to let me have anything even resembling real drugs). A thick book on sexual health (contraception, venereal diseases, pregnancy, women's health issues – we were going to _need_ this information like never before). I didn't even feel guilty about stealing the books. They'd stolen a medical degree from me, not to mention almost three years worth of schooling.

When I went home, I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling for a couple of hours before I finally roused myself.

Jake looked up with concern as I stuck opened the door to the living room.

"Are you doing OK?"

"Fine. I'm going to the hospital. Do you need anything before I take off?"

"What? Why?"

"They just lost about 90% of their nurses today. They'll need help."

"You can't. They're not letting women work -"

"I'm not trying to work. I'm volunteering. Caring for the sick is a humble, feminine thing to do, isn't it?"

He was quiet for a few moments. "Yeah, I guess so, but . . . Rachel, what can you do? Really, I mean. You're not a nurse."

I shrugged. "I take care of you."

My heart dropped into my stomach as I saw the look on his face, and I hated myself. When Jake insults me, at least I know he's joking. When I insult him, on the other hand, it's always with something like this. I can be such an idiot.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like . . . sorry. You're not a patient. But after living with you, I've learned a lot about helping people get around in wheelchairs and that sort of thing." I cleared my throat. "Anyway, um, I'm pretty good with computers, I can read the patients' charts, I've got a general idea of what a lot of drugs do, I know how to take temperatures and measure blood pressure and help people to the bathroom. I learn pretty fast and I can take instructions; I'm sure they'll find something for me to do. Even if it's just mopping up the ER or serving meals. I – I just have to do _something_ to help."

"Fair enough." Another pause. "You're really wearing _that_?"

I looked down at myself – ankle-length skirt, dark sweatshirt, flat shoes. "What's wrong with it?"

"Don't you think the necklace is a bit much?"

My fingers curled defensively around the small crucifix at my neck. "I wear this all the time. I just usually keep it under my clothes."

"And now you're flaunting it. You've even braided your hair."

"What's your point, Jake?" I snapped.

"My point is that you've been hating Gilead for years, but they're in power a few weeks and suddenly you turn into their bitch!"

I had never been so angry with Jake as I was at that moment. Which is really saying something.

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing. Because people are up in that hospital with no-one to take care of them, and I'll do whatever it takes to get in there and help. Got it? I'll lie down on top of a puddle and let them walk all over me, I'll bend over backwards, I'll do anything they tell me to _if it gets me into that hospital!_ OK?"

I slammed the door on my way out.

*****

Jake was right about what he said. Of course he was right. What I didn't agree with was the bile in the way he said it. I'm not like him. After he got into uni, he vowed that he was going to 'tie it down and make it his bitch'. I, on the other hand, visualised throwing myself at medicine's feet. Maybe it's the fact that I've spent most of my life believing in a higher power, maybe it's just the way I am, but submission comes easily to me. That's the way I fight. I play by their rules, ask "How high?" when I'm told to jump through hoops and I do it so well that they can't touch me, and don't even want to.

But my heart was twisting with dread as I walked away from the hospital the next morning, because I knew that this wasn't one of those things I could resist by surrendering to. This was wrong. It was evil. The number of women and girls who came into hospital last night with black eyes and broken bones, even bullet wounds in a few cases . . . The attending physician called it a record. And it was only going to get worse. Sure, the army would stop beating us up before long – Gilead promised safety for women – but their way of protecting us was to take away our freedom, our rights, our personhood, and all in the name of Jesus. I couldn't call myself a Christian and let that happen.

But I couldn't fight either. It wouldn't be fair. I'd promised Jake that I'd protect him. That my reputation was going to keep us safe. If I decided to throw it away, he'd be worse off than he was before he married me by at least an order of magnitude. I couldn't drag him into that. I could risk my own life, but not his. It wasn't right. Maybe the only honourable choice was to let him go.

Something in my cried out against that idea. Part of it was the fear of losing him, but most of it was fear for myself. A divorced woman in Gilead? I shivered at the thought.

"What the hell?"

The voice jolted me out of my thoughts, and I looked around. A tall brunette was arguing with the cashier in a little café.

"I'm sorry, the number's not valid."

"Bullshit. I've got thousands in there."

"It's not valid."

"I just want a cup of coffee and a muffin! I come here every day. I was here yesterday. My number was working."

Through the fuzz of tiredness, I realised what was going on. They hadn't warned us, but I knew enough about Gilead to guess. Her account was locked. Just like every other one with an F instead of an M.

"I've got it," I said, walking up to the counter.

The man glared at me like 'How many of these idiot females are going to try this before they catch on?'

I recited Jake's compunumber. It worked.

The man sullenly handed over the woman's breakfast. She snatched it and walked away. I followed her.

"What the hell was that about?"

I told her.

"How come _your _number is still valid, then?"

"That wasn't my number. It's OK, he won't mind."

"This is total . . . I earned that money!"

"I think they'll transfer it to your male next of kin."

She sighed and raked a hand through her hair. "Well that's a lot of fucking help!"

It was only then that I recognised her.

"Sharon?"

She stared back.

"Is that . . . Rachel?"

We'd known each other in high school. And if I remembered right, Sharon had every right to be worried. Her parents had divorced when she was too young to remember. She didn't have any brothers. And she was a lesbian.

"Yeah. Listen, this might sound kind of presumptuous, but . . . Can I buy you some groceries? I figure you're going to need them soon."

"Won't your father mind you spending his money helping out a dyke?"

"My father's got nothing to do with it." I waved my ring at her. "I got married."

"What? Why? I mean, no offense, do whatever you want, but . . . I thought you were smarter than that! With all the political shit that's going on, why would you give a man any more power over you?"

"It's not really _giving_ a man power. Someone's going to be running my life for me no matter what I do, and I wanted to choose who it would be. I trust Jake. I'm not sure if I trust my dad."

"Makes sense, I guess. I might just take you up on that offer, then. I'll pay you back."

"Don't worry about it."

I knew I was never going to see her again.

*****

I was practically dead on my feet by the time I staggered home. Adrenaline, bright lights and a whole lot of coffee had kept me going all night, but after I left Sharon at the supermarket all the exhaustion I'd been pushing back hit me at once. I met Jake as he was leaving for work, and hugged him for a long time because it felt so good to be touching someone who wasn't in pain. He said something comforting (probably - the words just kind of washed over my head) before dashing off to catch his bus, and I went to my room in a daze. I'd thought I wanted sleep, but I ended up just lying there, not quite able to summon the energy to cry.

It didn't make any sense. I was so glad I'd gone to the hospital - it had restored my faith in humanity. The way everyone banded together had been like something out of a fairy tale.

Janitors changed bloody dressings and gave sponge baths. Techies worked with heart monitors and measured blood pressure and did their best to keep the records up to date. Volunteers like me dispensed pills and handed surgeons their instruments and took histories. And the doctors, paramedics and male nurses were freaking heroes. They did _everything_.

The problem was that none of it was enough.

Nothing within the bounds of the law was going to be enough.

When Jake got home, I'd have to talk to him. Promise or no promise, I couldn't let this go on. If doing something more than desperate attempts at damage control meant walking away from this . . . marriage, or whatever the hell it was, then that was what I'd do.


End file.
